


Diamonds Taking Shape ...

by iberiandoctor (Jehane)



Category: Crazy Rich Asians (2018), Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Environmental issues, F/M, Fluff, Food Porn, Future Fic, M/M, Post-Canon, Tourist Porn, good timeline, happiness, slice-of-life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:40:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28107939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jehane/pseuds/iberiandoctor
Summary: … and an intersection with Crazy Rich Love (:winky face emoji:)
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Rachel Chu/Nick Young
Comments: 14
Kudos: 67
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Diamonds Taking Shape ...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aurons_fan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurons_fan/gifts).



> Thanks to sane, impoverished betas Raspberryhunter, Miss m and Kainosite! 
> 
> CW for quips about Empire and former colonies, and canon-consistent levels of discourse on progressive issues. Title from another Coldplay song, [_Adventure of a Lifetime_](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Adventure_of_a_Lifetime) (A Head Full of Dreams, 2015).

**_To: HRH Prince Dickhead :poop emoji:_ ** _THE THINGS WE DO FOR LOVE_

Alex spends three of the eighteen hours of his nonstop Singapore Airlines flight working on his criminal law term paper. He started at NYU in the fall; his grades this semester aren’t too bad, but he needs to kick it to the next level if he wants to argue cases before the Supremes when he’s thirty like his mom did. 

When he’s finally done with his magnum opus on _Morissette v. United States_ 342 U.S. 246 (1952), he orders a tumbler of middle-shelf whiskey and writes up his fact-check on Nate Cohn’s _New York Times_ article on Ted Cruz’s recent filibuster attempt. The memo’s only due in 24 hours; plenty of time to email the sub-editors after he lands.

Alex thought that after the 2020 elections, he’d be able to enjoy college life in New York as an anonymous grad student. No such luck. They might have won re-election but they’ve lost their majority in the Senate, and the Affordable Care Act is under serious threat. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez jokes that he ought to be angling to take over her district when she’s served out her term, but Alex knows he should be eyeing Veasy in the 33rd district of his home state, and the smart play would be to gun for Cruz in 2028. He doesn’t want to plan his possible political career this early in the game (anonymous grad student, remember? Plus, this is the time to start lining up law firm internships and even a clerkship; politics is a blip on the horizon that just complicates his future in a way that maybe he doesn’t need), but he finds himself thinking about it anyway.

Afterwards, Alex winds down with the new _Black Panther_ movie. King Chadwick has never looked fitter, or hotter, and Sean Connery is clearly having the time of life chewing the scenery as villainous Geoffrey Sydenham, the King’s new evil nemesis. Spoiler: good guys win, bad guys bite the dust, Wakanda Forever! It's great, Alex gives it two thumbs up. Then he sends Henry a text on the inflight wifi, pulls the airplane blanket over his head and goes to sleep. 

**_To: HRH Prince Dickhead :poop emoji:_ ** _Besides, I’m surprised the colonials are actually letting you back into the country in the first place_

They touch down at Singapore’s Changi Airport at 6 a.m. SG time. Alex peers out of the window and is greeted by an equatorial sun rising in a misty blue sky, dense green trees and fuchsia bougainvillea flowers and the sight of the Indian Ocean on the horizon. 

Earlier this month, when Henry got the invite to attend the Commonwealth Rainforest Eco-Gala 2021 in Singapore, Alex jumped at the chance to spend Christmas at temperatures actually above freezing. When he gets off the aerobridge and feels the tropical breeze, Alex can’t help congratulating himself on this wise decision — at home in Brooklyn, it would be 6 p.m., pitch black, and colder than Jeffery Richard’s butthole.

As Vicente ushers him through security, his phone buzzes.

**_To: First Son of Founding Father Sacrilege_ ** _Your lot have always welcomed us with open arms._  
**_To: First Son of Founding Father Sacrilege_ ** _(Admittedly, with gunships, also, but we’ve been on friendlier terms for the last century?)_  
**_To: First Son of Founding Father Sacrilege_ ** _Besides I suspect they’re planning on harvesting my plasma and reverse engineering the gene for unnatural height._

**_To: HRH Prince Dickhead :poop emoji:_ ** _Gasp! Would James Bond have asked Moneypenny to accompany him on such a dangerous mission to foreign parts? :winky face:_

**_To: First Son of Founding Father Sacrilege_** _… frankly, darling, I don’t believe_ you’re _in any danger re: harvesting._

Alex is about to respond to this egregious crack about his height (five nine is average, and he’s not rounding up, thank you very much!), but he’s distracted by a familiar figure in the Changi Airport VIP holding room — tall and broad, wearing a royal blue suit that matches his eyes, carrying a bunch of fragile orchids in one large hand. 

Henry George Edward James Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor has been on the ground in this island nation for the last two days. His off-center photos calling on Prime Minister Shanmugaratnam and drinking at Boat Quay ( _#VisitSingapore #royalvisit! #ChristmasinSingapore!_ ) have been doing quite well on Instagram even without Alex to help him wrangle his tags.

Alex can’t help the bubble of excitement that fizzes through him at the sight. He hasn’t seen Henry in a whole month: it’s a terrible romcom cliché, but the brownstone feels empty when Henry’s in the UK. Scrupulous to a fault, Henry divides his time equally between his US and UK charities, which does make Alex feel as if he’s conducting transatlantic diplomacy from their bedroom. 

“For me? You shouldn’t have,” Alex drawls, as Henry sweeps him into a bone-melting kiss that tells him Henry missed him every bit as much. Alex is feeling a bit grungy from eighteen hours of trans-Pacific travel, but his prince doesn’t care, and after a split-second, neither does he. Henry’s kiss has always been like coming home, wherever that home may be.

Eventually, breathing unsteadily and grinning like idiots, they let each other go, and Alex quips, “Good thing this isn’t illegal here anymore.” It used to be — one more archaic thing you could blame on the British — but section 377A of the Singapore Penal Code was quietly repealed last year with very little fanfare, in the same way that this quiet, efficient former colony does most things with very little fanfare. 

“Thanks for the reminder,” Henry declares, blushing a little. Alex knows the Windsors have been supporting LGBT charities across the Commonwealth, but he’ll never let slide an opportunity to needle His Royal Heretic about his colonial tea tax-collecting ancestors.

“Please, you love being kept honest by the First Son of your former colony!”

Henry snorts, gearing up for a response, and Shaan has to cut in, looking as impeccable and impervious to jetlag as ever. “Morning, Alex — we have a full itinerary today, and I thought you’d appreciate some time to freshen up, but Henry says you’ll be hungry, so the first thing on the schedule is breakfast.”

Henry’s handler got married in June to Ellen Claremont’s deputy chief of staff — a private, non-Instagrammed ceremony held in the White House Rose Garden. Zahra is out here in Singapore, too, wearing Jackie Kennedy shades and a large white sun-hat that looks nothing like she’s on a belated honeymoon. They all slip off into unmarked BMWs, and while the lovebirds head out to spend some deserved alone time together, Alex presses send on his _NYT_ email to Farid Mansour and follows the rest of the entourage to what the HRH-monogrammed hardcopy meticulously typed up schedule notes is the _celebrated Newton Hawker Centre_ in the heart of Singapore’s residential district. 

Henry says he remembers the bustling market from his first trip to Singapore. As Alex takes a pew at one of the modest plastic tables, shaded from the morning sun by a canopy of tall trees, Henry trots back and forth between the numerous stalls offering local specialties, and returns with heaping piles of food, all the while making like an overly enthusiastic food slash travel blogger. 

“I say, did you know, there’s no one Singaporean national dish, because Singapore is so multicultural? There are so many different famous dishes — there’s chicken rice, there’s laksa, there’s fish curry. Isn’t the multi-ethnic diversity amazing?”

Alex, who lives with multi-ethnic diversity every day, can’t help but roll his eyes. Still, he also can’t help but kiss his ivory-tower do-gooder despite it, relishing in the taste of apparently famous chilli sauce on Henry’s bottom lip.

Around them, the morning crowd takes pics and vids with their phones. Not to be outdone, Alex goes with a stream of them trying to eat the crumbling, delicious poh piah with chopsticks, and even less successfully, with their fingers:

_Can’t take this man anywhere!?_  
_#hewenttoEtonanddidn’tlearnactualtablemanners  
#henryandalexdoSingapore2021 #postcolonialhangover2021_

Henry’s BFF Pez is in town as well. Although polo season is officially over, he’s arranged to play in an exhibition cup at the Singapore Polo Club to raise funds for _Unforgotten_ , his and Henry’s charity to provide psychosocial support for children living with HIV in Nigeria. 

Alex is a scholar and not a sportsman, and is anyway definitely too smart to try to take up this borderline-insane game in his twenties just for shits and giggles. Instead, he stands under the colonial black-and-white terraces, and admires the athletic lines of a certain princely ass as it sits in its borrowed saddle. 

It’s very hot (the temperature, too, not just Alex’s boyfriend); it’s a good thing Singapore has efficient air conditioning.

“All this aircon isn’t very environmentally friendly, certainly,” admits Clive Mohideen, the harried-looking Committee Secretary. “Singapore’s gotten hotter — climate change, you know — but that’s all the more reason for us to look for greener ways to cool the city. Gardens by the Bay is on your itinerary, right? You’ll see what they’ve done there.” Climate change isn’t Alex’s area, much, but he’s now actually looking forward to this part of the tour.

When the match is over, Pez returns Henry, tousled and sweating and gloriously bright red, to Alex’s side.

“Hey, Alex. I’m afraid we have lunch plans, so there isn’t time for a quickie in the tack room.”

Henry turns even redder, but Alex knows how to deal with Pez’s teasing. “Good to see you too, Pez. Quickies aren’t really our thing, we like to take our time. So does June, actually — and, come to think of it, you’d better be treating my sister with the care and consideration she deserves, or the Secret Service might stop by your house with some stern words.”

This worked, because it’s now Pez’s turn to blush. He and June have recently started dating again, after a long break during which June let Chris Evans take her to this year’s Burning Man. 

“Of course not, of course not! Nothing but rose petals and satin sheets and Cristal for my Aphrodite, my Helen of Troy, my Vanity Fair Empress. She knows I took a course in reiki foot massage for her, and I’m nearly done with my Tantric stamina certification! In fact —”

“Mate, can we not do this,” Henry groans, and Alex snickers appreciatively, while at the same time making a mental note to ask Pez for recs later — nothing crazy, of course, but more stamina is always useful, especially when you’ve got a star athlete boyfriend to keep happy between the sheets. 

Shaan and Zahra rejoin the party for lunch at Eden Hall, the official residence of the British High Commissioner in Singapore’s quiet, tree-lined conservation district ( _#MaytheUnionJackflyhereforever! #henryandalexdoSingapore2021_ ). Lunch is in the sunroom, with the doors flung open to catch a cool breeze. The 1960s ceiling fans and historic décor echo Singapore’s colonial past, which the High Commissioner, Jill Owen-Tierney, CMG doesn’t sidestep. Alex quite likes her; she even has a secret Twitter handle ( _@jillliverpoolfootballclubfan_ ), and her corgis are every bit as cute in person as in her photos. 

Afterwards, the High Commissioner escorts the Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor entourage to the Botanic Gardens, a UNESCO World Heritage Site that was founded by the British in 1859. Stepping through leafy arches, Alex peers at the sprays of orchids which the nearby sign tells him is named after Henry’s great-grandmother, the _Dendrobium_ Duchess Consort Wallis. 

“And we’re proposing to have one named after you and your consort,” Karen de Souza, the diminutive Parks board CEO, tells Henry seriously. “But you both must of course come back and visit it after you’re married!”

Henry chokes a bit, turning as purple as the nearby _Papilionanada_ Joseph Jill Biden: they haven’t set a date, or even really talked about basic details like where they’d make their home. As with politics, marriage is something Alex hasn’t wanted to think about so early in the game (he’s only twenty-three; plus, actually marrying into British royalty complicates his future in a way that maybe he doesn’t need), but it’s another thing he finds himself thinking about anyway. 

Still, though flowers aren’t really his thing, either, international relations are — Singapore’s not just a former British colony, it’s also a strategic US ally in this part of the world. “We will, if you guys send some over for the wedding favors!”

“Deal,” Karen says, also not just talking about the flowers, and Henry sighs.

Tomorrow night is the big gala, held on the floating platform at somewhere called Marina Barrage, which is apparently _the world’s largest outdoor floating performance stage, under a sky filled with stars!_ Tonight, Alex has managed to persuade Henry to beg off official functions in favor of a quiet dinner with some local friends.

When Alex signed up for Rachel Chu’s advanced game theory class for extra credit, he’d admired the crazy-huge emerald on her finger but hadn’t realized she’d married into Singapore’s richest family. Or that her new husband, history prof Nick Young, usually seen loping around campus wearing a faded NYU hoodie and ancient sweatpants, was once the city-state’s most eligible bachelor. 

_Hello, more like a cross between Asia’s Kardashians and JFK Jr._ was Nora’s comment in the cover memo to the extensive research file that she put together for Alex on Nick’s ancestors, the Shangs and the Youngs of Singapore.

"I’m only agreeing to this description if I get to be Kim,” Nick says. In his native habitat, he’s tall and Kennedy-glamorous in a sculptured gray suit, his smile echoing the lights of the city which his grandfather built. 

Nick and Rachel take them to dinner at an elevated restaurant and bar atop the Supertree Grove that overlooks the Gardens by the Bay. Alex is told that these artificial trees are actually vertical gardens, more than 50 meters high and designed to sway with the wind. As Clive mentioned, the Gardens themselves are cooled by a combination of air-conditioned conservatories and water features and clever curtains of cool mist, together with the ample vegetation that provides natural shade and angled overhangs that provide an artificial one. When Alex and Henry and their hosts cross under the tropical canopies and coated cooling fins, it feels temperate enough to be Constitution Gardens in the spring.

The environmentally-friendly, ultramodern parkland looks nothing like Constitution Gardens, though; to Alex’s eye it could have been from another planet. 

He says as much to Rachel, who shrugs. “Green sustainability has become a real priority here. Before, it was your standard urbanization story: big polluting factories, cargo ships, oil refineries built too near residential areas — until someone realized the sea levels were rising, and this place is an _island_? Since then, they’ve been all about sustainability reporting and carbon credits and investments in envirotech, and, you know what, the economy hasn't done too badly.”

“Really?” As previously noted, climate isn’t Alex’s area. Environmentalism in Texas tends to get framed as bleeding-heart progressive propaganda designed to bring down the oil industry and the hard-working folk who keep America’s lights on; even Ellen Claremont’s liberal cabinet is deeply divided on the issue. “Maybe environmental protection doesn’t need to be as much of a tradeoff with economic success as we think.” 

Rachel said, “Look, I’m not a sustainability expert, but you don’t need to tell an economist about false tradeoffs. Here you have a city state that’s both green and an economic powerhouse. Maybe your mom doesn’t think it can be done, but maybe that just means it’s an issue for the next generation.” 

It’s definitely food for thought. Speaking of which, jetlag hasn’t caught up with Alex yet, because he’s _starving_.

The restaurant is fifteen stories above the ground. If Alex peers over the environmentally-sealed walkway he can see the great mirrored bowl of the Flower Dome. 

“We had one of our wedding parties down there,” Rachel says casually. Alex wonders whether she and Nick have an orchid named after them. 

“Let me guess, the others were in Parliament House and also the Arts Science museum at Marina Bay Sands?” Alex is mostly kidding when he reels off the names of the other tourist attractions on his itinerary, but Rachel smiles sheepishly. 

“Yeah, at least one of those. I thought, after that start I had with my mother-in-law, it might be Lagrange-optimal to let her have her way over the party planning.”

She twists the emerald on her ring finger, and Alex asks, curiously, “Was it a rough ride with the in-laws?”

“When isn’t it?” She glances across the immaculate white linen tablecloth, to where Nick and Henry are busy swapping stories about Oxford and boarding school — it seems Nick also went to Eton, and is in the middle of a story about someone called "Thrasher" Harris, who’d apparently been the upper school’s fearsome discipline master. “Grandma Su Yi might not be the actual queen of Singapore, but Eleanor half believes it. Nobody was good enough for her son, and part of her still secretly thinks that.”

“What did you do to convince her to mutually co-operate?”

“Me? I showed her I loved Nick enough to let him go,” Rachel says, and then has to give Alex a five-minute crash course on the rules of mahjong. Alex doesn’t know whether to be impressed or horrified at the play-by-play of the game in which she’d let Nick’s mom win, and then walked away. 

Rachel continues, “And to be fair to Eleanor, she loved him enough to swallow her pride and send him after me. With this; this was hers,” she adds, raising the fabulous emerald into the light. 

As Alex tries the gumball-sized jewel on his little finger, Rachel muses, “You know, he told me she’d sent him to live with Su Yi when he was a boy, so that he’d be Grandma’s favorite. It worked, that’s why Nick’s the heir, but it took a long time before Nick realized _why_ Eleanor did it — not because she didn’t love him, but because she loved him enough to let him go.”

Alex has to absorb this in silence for a beat. “Wow. _Steel Magnolias_ has nothing on you guys,” he says, at last, returning the family heirloom to Rachel before he can accidentally drop it in the way that he once destroyed someone’s hundred thousand dollar wedding cake. 

“You’re totally not old enough to know about that movie,” Rachel grins, which is a complete diss: Alex grew up watching the show, he’s always had a thing for Sally Field and smart Southern belles. Rachel pauses, then says, “So, how about you? What’s it like getting the actual Queen of England to let her grandson give you his ring?”

“She didn’t? Not really. It’s part of British royal tradition to pretend to be straight and to propagate the line; Henry was expected to suck it up.” 

Alex remembers those tough weeks, with Henry desperately miserable but still so bravely determined to do his duty. Remembers finally deciding that pride and propriety could go screw itself and getting on a plane to make a last stand at Kensington Palace, like a stalker holding a _Say Anything_ boom box under Henry’s bedroom window. (Now _that_ ’s a movie he’s probably not old enough to know about.) 

He suppresses a shudder. “But I knew Henry’s happiness was worth more than that. I flew out there, and we managed to get his mom onside, and all of us managed to convince Her Maj in the end.”

“You mean you chased the ring down yourself?” Rachel whistles softly. “Gotta hand it to you, Diaz, when your last paper went too soft on Nash mutual-defect equilibrium, I wasn’t sure you had what it took for politics in your purple state, let alone for an A in my class. But you’re halfway to convincing me.” Alex feels his cheeks getting hot, and she winks at him. “Besides, a British royal would be one hell of an asset as a campaign spouse!” 

Now this is even more food for thought. If there’s something that appeals more to conservative Southern constituents than Sally Fields, it’s real King George-descending blue bloodedness, the War of Independence notwithstanding.

“I never thought of it that way, Prof, but you might be right.”

Rachel grins and pats his hand. “Hey, when you decide to run for real, I hope you’ll remember your old game theory prof gave you this push.”

The servers swoop by and top up the champagne flutes and Nick leads them in a toast. “Here’s to our friends — we’re so glad we’re getting to show them our home!”

By now, the sun has set and the crescent moon has risen, a slice of heaven over the canopies and colorful lights of the futuristic gardens and the blue bowl of sky. In the runup to Christmas, Singapore is dressed in festive, multicultural decorations, neon and chrome and twinkling LED strung from one end of the horizon to the other, like a blanket of little stars. 

“Glorious,” Henry says, admiringly, and Alex knows he’s not just talking about the view. This green, climate-friendly island, a tiny jewel in the vastness of South-East Asia, has survived Henry’s ancestors and overcome ethnic divisions and urban pollution to succeed, against the odds, against the grand sweep of history. 

Rachel murmurs, into his ear, “You know, my mom was a first generation immigrant, and New York will always be my home. But Nick’s my happily ever after, and this will always be home to _him_. And just look at the place!”

Alex is definitely looking. It’s like a microcosm of the world’s hopes for the future, crystallized in one small, space-age bubble, a green, liveable city of tomorrow. Alex is a relentless optimist, but even he knows how fragile their future is. Global climate change aside, the voices of hate and fear and division seem to be getting louder and louder every day, in his own country as well as Henry’s, and maybe even in this one. It’s getting tougher and tougher to keep ahead of the apocalypse.

Still, here, on this night, surrounded by people he loves, Alex knows they’ll succeed.

Nick’s ancestors might have raised the foundations of this state, and Henry’s before them, but Alex figures it was really natives and immigrants who built the modern, multicultural place. They saw the change they wanted, they grasped the need to be what they wanted to be. Then, as now, they had the same dreams, the same vision of a shining future — not just for those with old money, or the crazy rich, but for everyone who shared this planet.

Fireworks choose this moment to explode overhead, turning the night sky into a multicolored wonderland, and tourists run for the windows to capture the moment. 

Nick takes Rachel’s hand and kisses it. Alex can’t help noticing how they stare at each other as if they can’t believe their luck — in having found this home, in having found each other. Other people turn to stare at them as well, and then come the whispers and flashes of camera phones; for once Alex and Henry aren’t the most photographed couple in the room ( _#fyeahNickandRachel! #SGRoyalCouple #countdowntoBabyYoung2022?_ ).

Henry catches Alex’s eye. He doesn’t need texts or hashtags to make his message clear: _Home is wherever you are._

Alex remembers walking out onto a confetti-strewn stage in Austin on election night, to give the speech of his political life on the cusp of his mother’s historic re-election win, snatching victory from the jaws of defeat; and then, afterwards, standing on the steps of his family home on Westover, fireworks decorating the night sky and holding Henry by the hand. Remembers how it felt to be in love with this man all over again, and with his country, and with a future together which nothing could stop.

As different fireworks go off around them, surrounded by the different lights of another multicultural city, Alex finally lets himself envision marrying his prince, and making a run for the House with Henry at his side, and embarking on the adventure of both their lives. He doesn’t know what the future might bring them, but he absolutely can’t wait to find out.

**Author's Note:**

> 18-hour nonstop flights to and from Changi Airport and JFK [ are absolutely a thing (even now!)](https://www.forbes.com/sites/ericrosen/2020/10/20/singapore-airlines-will-launch-non-stop-flights-to-new-york-jfk-next-month/?sh=1c5e0727573c).
> 
> Prince Harry’s itinerary [the last time he came to town](https://www.straitstimes.com/singapore/prince-harry-in-spore-for-charity-work).
> 
> [The Singapore Polo Club season](https://www.singaporepoloclub.org/polo/polos/polo-calendar); [Eden Hall](https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Category:Eden_Hall) (where there’s apparently really a plaque installed at the bottom of the flagpole reading: "May the Union Jack fly here forever"); more folks should stan [Singapore’s serving High Commissioner](https://twitter.com/karaowen?lang=en); here is the orchid named after [Kate and Wills](https://www.nparks.gov.sg/news/2012/9/orchid-named-after-duke-and-duchess-of-cambridge#:~:text=Dendrobium%20Queen%20Elizabeth%20II%20was,of%20Diana%2C%20Princess%20of%20Wales). Unfortunately the restaurant at the [Supertrees at Gardens by the Bay](https://www.gardensbythebay.com.sg/en/the-gardens/our-story/introduction.html) shut its doors last year.
> 
> Book Henry’s surname Fox- _Mountchristen_ -Windsor (cf Elizabeth II and Philip’s [_Mountbatten_ -Windsor](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mountbatten-Windsor), created in 1960 by Privy Council declaration; the Mountbatten [comes from Philip’s side](https://www.vanityfair.com/style/society/2012/01/queen-elizabeth-201201), [ a cadet branch of the German princely Battenberg family](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mountbatten_family)) signals his lineage from George V (who [changed the British royal surname](https://www.history.com/this-day-in-history/britains-king-george-v-changes-royal-surname) from Saxe-Coburg-Gotha to Windsor in 1917), as in RL canon, but then afterwards a break from Elizabeth II’s line. [Enterprising RW&RB fans](https://truefangirlheart.tumblr.com/post/190158366848/red-white-royal-blue-timeline) have divined that _Mountchristen_ indicates a descent from [Edward VIII](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edward_VIII), and that Henry’s grandmother Mary was the daughter of Edward’s marriage to [Wallis Simpson](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wallis_Simpson). It looks like, in this timeline, Britain accepted [Edward’s proposed solution to the constitutional crisis of 1936](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Abdication_of_Edward_VIII); Edward and Wallis stayed in England, and their child, Mary, married a Mountchristen and launched the House of Mountchristen-Windsor.


End file.
